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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28982985">Withnail (&amp; Murphy) &amp; I</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/petermarwood/pseuds/petermarwood'>petermarwood</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Withnail &amp; I (1986)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 09:07:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,045</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28982985</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/petermarwood/pseuds/petermarwood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After Marwood receives the telegram, he and Withnail get ready to leave Penrith, but their car suddenly breaks down.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Marwood/Withnail</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Withnail (&amp; Murphy) &amp; I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            A translation of

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28904151">Withnail (&amp; Murphy) &amp; eu</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/petermarwood/pseuds/petermarwood">petermarwood</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>English is not my first language, so pls excuse my grammatical mistakes and weird word choices/sentences -- anyway the idea here was just to think what would happen if this movie was 3h long lol I hope you like it !!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I think there is something wrong.”
</p><p>“For fuck’s sake, Withnail, of course there’s something wrong. The fucking car has broken down.”
</p><p>They stood still some thirty feet from the gate. It was night and it rained copiously in Penrith - good for the plants, which had been somewhat dry at the beginning of autumn, bad for a group of sheep that gathered under the front porch of a distant and empty house. Also bad for Marwood and Withnail who, at that moment, not unlike the sheep, trembled with the sound of a thunder.
</p><p>“Well, do something about it”, said Withnail. There was no answer. “Wasn’t your father a mechanic or something?”
</p><p>“It touches me that you care so much about my family.” Marwood continued trying to start the car. But each time the car would only grunt and stop, grunt and stop, grunt and-
</p><p>“Wasn’t he though?”
</p><p>“It may surprise you, but I’m not my father. Why don’t you do something about it?”
</p><p>“I’m having lunch.”
</p><p>“Bullshit. Get out; you push the car and I’ll start it.” Marwood sighed.
</p><p>“Why is it that I have to get out?”, Withnail asked, outraged.
</p><p>“Because I’m driving.”
</p><p>	“Please, if I go out now, I might die. I haven’t eaten properly. The rain will wash me down the gully.”
</p><p>	At this point, Withnail twisted his body over the seat, and tried to reach for the steering wheel. With his other hand, he handled the gear rather histerically, as if he was trying to take a last breath out of a dead man, a last sign of life. Marwood pushed him aside and boasted:
	</p><p>“What the fuck are you doing?”
</p><p>	“You cannot drive, let me try. There must be something I can do.”
</p><p>“Sure there is, you can get off me and push the car.” 
</p><p>But that didn’t help at all; Withnail was adamant about his goal. And what goal was it? Marwood couldn’t tell, he only knew it to be something obsessive and religious; a matter of faith. Maybe Withnail believed the car would eventually fly off if he pulled the right levers at the right time. Anyhow, he began to lift his right leg in order to reach the clutch; it was then that Marwood gave up and got himself out of the vehicle, cursing his friend.
</p><p>	They tried once. Marwood, who almost slipped on the muddy road, pressed all of his weight against the car while Withnail turned the key. They then tried a second time. Luckily, they were at a mild slope. Still, nothing, only the defunt rumble of the engine. Another time and one more - until Marwood came back, drenched. He slammed the door.
</p><p>	“It’s impossible”, Marwood muttered, visibly irritated.
</p><p>	“We will die here. Fucking Christ, we will die; in the middle of this bloody Noah’s ark. Tell me you’ve brought some more booze.” Withnail drank the last drops out of a whisky bottle. He punched his forehead repeatedly, since he couldn’t bring himself to cry.
	</p><p>“Or we could go back to the cottage and call a mechanic.”
</p><p>	Withnail stopped. He ate his final overcooked potato and blew his nose on the napkin. They left the car, covering themselves the best they could, each with his own coat. The slippery soil was difficult to step on, and because of that they walked slowly back home. On the way, however, Marwood couldn’t stop thinking about Withnail’s words and that they were, in fact, going to die there, drowned, clogged with grass and dirt - a thwarted dream of repopulation.
</p><p>	They entered the cottage after a tiny mishap with the lock. Marwood went to light the lamp while Withnail headed to the beverage cabinet. He took a wine bottle and started drinking. There was light. Both of them, sogged, shivered cold, and Marwood lit the fire as well, with a remainder of wood that Monty had left in the house.
</p><p>	They sat there for a couple of minutes in complete silence, sharing the bottle. 
</p><p>	“Have you brought any spare clothes?”, Marwood asked.
</p><p>	“Why on Earth would I do that?”
</p><p>	Suddenly, the reality of the situation dawned on him. He ran to the door, from where he gazed upon the place the car was supposed to be. However, the rain didn’t let him see anything. He almost worked up the nerve to rush out, without even seeing where he treaded, but he detained himself and went back to the fireplace.
</p><p>	“Our things are in the car”, said Marwood, so upset he couldn’t blame himself or his friend.
	</p><p>Both of their clothes were still tight to the skin, despite the fire; they remained damp in the most unpleasant spots and lost tempeature with ease. Marwood walked in circles. He went into the kitchen and finally the dining room. There, in the dark, he began to ruminate about how cold he felt, until he could take it no longer and so he went back.
	</p><p>Withnail lit a fag. Though drunk, he knew his friend was in crisis. But he didn’t know - or could even think about - how to help him. Marwood stole the cigarette from his mouth and inhaled deeply.
	</p><p>“I think-”, said Withnail, too drunk to protest. “I think there might be some clothes upstairs. In the closet… I think.”
	</p><p>“Christ, Withnail, why didn’t you tell me? This is the kind of thing people do before they get tuberculosis.”
	</p><p>As Marwood climbed up the stairs, two steps at a time, Withnail shouted:
</p><p>	“If not, bring a blanket. All of the blankets in the house. Then we can wrap ourselves with them and open a liquor to fight this intense cold.”
</p><p>	In half an hour, they were sitting on a duvet, dry and trouserless, dressed in Monty’s blouses and jackets. The clothes were enormous and looked like ill-fitted dresses. The most important thing, however, was that they were warm. Withnail and Marwood couldn’t find a bottle of liquor to open, but they grabbed a ‘53 Margaux in the wine rack which was way better than whatever they had drunk earlier.  
	</p><p>“Here’s the deal: we’ll sleep, and this storm will pass, and then we’ll phone someone. Tomorrow night…”, Withnail said, with slurred speech.
</p><p>	“Tomorrow is already today”, added Marwood.
</p><p>	“Whatever. Tonight we’ll be on our way to London, without a fucking problem. Chin-chin.”</p>
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